


In Formal Wear

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	In Formal Wear

Inspections.

Everyone at MI6 despised them. M was even more sullen for days beforehand, and usually after as well, Eve got snappy, and even Tanner’s cheer was dampened. But no one, absolutely no one, hated them as much as Q.

Bond asked him why one fateful day in Q-Unit. He was lounging about, being generally distracting, when the question slipped out. Minions started retreating, throwing him uncharacteristically dark looks, and 003, who had just walked in the door, promptly turned around and walked out again. Q turned around slowly.

“What’s not to hate? I have to dress up for a bunch of old fools who stop me from doing my work, my job, for a whole twelve hours as the executive branch collectively grovels at them. Everyone wants to be in espionage. They romanticise it, and we have to play to their weaknesses and love of what they think being a spy means just to ensure that they’re on our side, when we’re trying to save them anyway. But, being the Quartermaster, I have to remain polite as they consistently admonish all my efforts purely for the fact that my job is more fun than theirs.”

Q had promptly returned back to his computer and Bond silently got him another cup of tea.

Later that evening, when they were curled in bed together, Q admitted something else.

“I wish you could be there, James. I could deal with all of it so much better if I knew that you could be behind them, making faces or something.”

“Is there a reason why I can’t be?”

Q huffed.

“You’re a spy. No one’s meant to be able to recognise you. The politicians actually ask for the spies to be absent so they aren’t able to give any information regarding your identities if they happen to be captured and asked.”

“That sounds incredibly far-fetched.”

“It’s the rules,” Q said with a sigh.

Bond held him tighter and they went to sleep.

 

*** 

 

Q left the next morning, dressed in a suit, wishing he was going anywhere except the office. Bond wished him good luck and waited until he heard the front door shut before jumping out of bed and into the shower.

 

*** 

 

“So tell me, Quartermaster. What exactly do these prototypes mean to the British people? What’s the purpose in spending all this money on such a simple contraption?”

Q almost bit his tongue off trying not to say ‘Because it’s what keeps my agents safe, you pig-headed moron’, but M was shooting him a warning look, so Q smiled and began to explain, in very small words, just like the last six times. Eventually the man eventually nodded and waved Q on to the next part of the tour. Q gestured towards a group of minions standing off to the side, dressed in suits of their own, to put away the prototypes, and almost turned around, but a distinctive flash of blue caught his eye. He looked at the minions again, and his jaw almost dropped open as one of them came forward and gathered the objects on the bench.

It was Bond.

The politician smiled at him.

M forgot how to breathe.

“And who are you?”

“This,” Q said, “is James, a staff member of the Q-Unit. He specialises in the testing of the prototypes and is competent in everything from explosives to gasses.”

Bond nodded courteously, keeping his head down, seemingly overawed by the suits surrounding him.

“I’m glad there are qualified people on the job.”

“Otherwise London wouldn’t be standing, you idiot,” Q thought, but kept his mouth shut.

“Sir,” Bond said, before stepping back with an arm full of metal.

M pressed the group on, obviously trying to get them as far away as Bond as possible, and Q had time to receive a wink from the agent before following them away.

As soon as their stereotypically fancy cars had driven off MI6 property, Q went straight to his office. Bond was lying on the couch, looking comfortable. Q closed the door.

“I need to go to M’s office, so he can give me a royal ass-whipping, and probably another lecture on how I should be able to control you, but I just want you to know that I have  
never loved you more than I do right now and you made my day a million times better.”

Bond stood up smoothly.

“In which case, mission complete.”

Q kissed him on the mouth, reminded him about picking up milk on his way home, and bounced out the door.

Some days, there was nothing better than dating a spy who didn’t follow the rules.


End file.
